Good Human Trafficking Quotes

Your character will always go ahead of you and speak words - good or bad - words will be spoken.

Bad times are just an illusion for the good times to show their face.

The good news is that a victim of human trafficking does not have to remain a victim.

We live in a world that is watching the church with one eyebrow raised. When Hollywood is viewed as doing more to feed the hungry and fight human trafficking than the church, we need to take a hard look at what we’re doing and ask if it’s enough. Jesus taught that when others see our good deeds they would assign value to God (Matthew 5:16). I can’t help but think that the same is true for his church.

But he couldn't feel self-pity in the face of the memorial. He hadn't lost nearly enough as these children, who'd lost their homeland and, in many cases,their whole families. Perhaps they had gained something, too, though. They had at least escaped the concentration camps, been taken in by good, caring families, and had grown up to live their lives in relative freedom.

We sometimes hear people voice doubts about opposition to sex trafficking, genital cutting, or honor killings because of their supposed inevitability. What can our good intentions achieve against thousands of years of tradition? Our response is China. A century ago, China was arguably the worst place in the world to be born female. Foot-binding, child marriage, concubinage, and female infanticide were embedded in traditional Chinese culture...So was it cultural imperialism for Westerners to criticize foot-binding and female infanticide? Perhaps. But it was also the right thing to do. If we believe firmly in certain values, such as the equality of all human beings regardless of color or gender, then we should not be afraid to stand up for them; it would be feckless to defer to slavery, torture, foot-binding, honor killings, or genital cutting just because we believe in respecting other faiths or cultures. One lesson of China is that we need not accept that discrimination is an intractable element of any society. If culture were immutable, China would still be impoverished and [women] would be stumbling around on three-inch feet.

When you consider atheists such as Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett, Sam Harris, and Christopher Hitchens, their strongest arguments are “moral arguments” against the existence of God. Why are children sold through human trafficking for prostitution? Why does God allow hurricanes to destroy the innocent? Why do babies die? In reality, these are not arguments about God’s existence, but rather arguments about the goodness of God. The atheist first creates scandal regarding God’s goodness, and then rejects Him.

At the root of desperate poverty, human trafficking, political violence and global inequity is a sense of scarcity and competition fueled by greed—the inordinate desire to possess wealth, goods or objects of abstract value far beyond the dictates of basic survival or comfort.

Saturday evening, on a quiet lazy afternoon, I went to watch a bullfight in Las Ventas, one of Madrid's most famous bullrings. I went there out of curiosity. I had long been haunted by the image of the matador with its custom made torero suit, embroidered with golden threads, looking spectacular in his "suit of light" or traje de luces as they call it in Spain. I was curious to see the dance of death unfold in front of me, to test my humanity in the midst of blood and gold, and to see in which state my soul will come out of the arena, whether it will be shaken and stirred, furious and angry, or a little bit aware of the life embedded in every death. Being an avid fan of Hemingway, and a proponent of his famous sentence "About morals, I know only that what is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel bad after,” I went there willingly to test myself. I had heard atrocities about bullfighting yet I had this immense desire to be part of what I partially had an inclination to call a bloody piece of cultural experience. As I sat there, in front of the empty arena, I felt a grandiose feeling of belonging to something bigger than anything I experienced during my stay in Spain. Few minutes and I'll be witnessing a painting being carefully drawn in front of me, few minutes and I will be part of an art form deeply entrenched in the Spanish cultural heritage: the art of defying death. But to sit there, and to watch the bull enter the arena… To watch one bull surrounded by a matador and his six assistants. To watch the matador confronting the bull with the capote, performing a series of passes, just before the picador on a horse stabs the bull's neck, weakening the neck muscles and leading to the animal's first loss of blood... Starting a game with only one side having decided fully to engage in while making sure all the odds will be in the favor of him being a predetermined winner. It was this moment precisely that made me feel part of something immoral. The unfair rules of the game. The indifferent bull being begged to react, being pushed to the edge of fury. The bull, tired and peaceful. The bull, being teased relentlessly. The bull being pushed to a game he isn't interested in. And the matador getting credits for an unfair game he set. As I left the arena, people looked at me with mocking eyes. Yes, I went to watch a bull fight and yes the play of colors is marvelous. The matador’s costume is breathtaking and to be sitting in an arena fills your lungs with the sands of time. But to see the amount of claps the spill of blood is getting was beyond what I can endure. To hear the amount of claps injustice brings is astonishing. You understand a lot about human nature, about the wars taking place every day, about poverty and starvation. You understand a lot about racial discrimination and abuse (verbal and physical), sex trafficking, and everything that stirs the wounds of this world wide open. You understand a lot about humans’ thirst for injustice and violence as a way to empower hidden insecurities. Replace the bull and replace the matador. And the arena will still be there. And you'll hear the claps. You've been hearing them ever since you opened your eyes.

when you speak about feminism they like to hit you with things i call 'what about's– what about women in the middle east what about women in third world countries what about focusing on them and not the problems here and this all sounds good in theory yes we need to help them yes we need to help young girls trapped in child marriages yes we need to help women marred by acid attacks yes we need to help victims of human trafficking yes we need to help women who wil be imprisioned beaten killed for speaking out about their sexual assault for getting an abortion for leaving an abusive husband yes we need to help them of couse we do it is our job as decent humans to help them but we can help them and help ourselves at the same time we can help young girls in child marriages and we can fight to end the objectification of young girls here we can help women marred by acid attacks and we can work harder to arrest abusers and assailants here we can help victims of human trafficking and we can stop stigma and violence against sex workers here we can help women who will be imprisioned for speaking out about their sexual assault beaten for getting an abortion killed for leaving an abusive husband and we can also help women who will be imprisioned for killing their pimp and captor beaten for refusing to have sex killed for rejecting a man here women are still getting hurt here there is still not total equality here they say what about this what about that what about them i say well what about here they say nothing because that they mean when they say what about the middle east what about the third world countries what about them is what about sitting down what about shutting up what about not saying anything at all

James Monroe served as the fifth President of the United States between 1817 and 1825. He was from Virginia and the last of the Founding Fathers to serve as President and was a wounded veteran of the Revolutionary War. After the war he studied law and served as a delegate in the Continental Congress. As president he and John Quincy Adams, who served as his Secretary of State, eased the prevailing partisan tensions bringing about what was called an “Era of Good Feelings.” He easily won a second term in office and in 1823, announced that the United States opposed any European intervention in the Americas by European Countries by enacting the Monroe Doctrine. Monroe strongly supported the founding of independent colonies in Africa for the return of freed slaves. These colonies eventually formed the nation of Liberia, whose capital was named Monrovia in his honor. In 1825 Monroe retired to New York City where he died on the 4th of July, 1831.

And now that mulch of dead imaginings beneath the feet of Temperance ladies, union-affiliated Vaudevillians and maimed men home from Europe has contaminated the groundwater of the upstart country's nightmares. Immigrants in their illimitable difference come to seem a separate species, taciturn and fish-eyed as though risen from the ocean waves that bore them in their transport, monstrous in their self-contained communities with bitter scents and indecipherable ululations, names, unsettlingly unpronounceable ensconced at isolated farms where beaten track is naught save idle rumour stagnant families nurse grievance, dreadful secrets and deformity in solitude; pools of declined humanity entirely unconnected to society by any tributary where ancestral prejudice or misconception may become the plaint of generations. Fabled and forbidden works of Arab alchemy are handed down across years cruel and volatile, trafficked between austere and colonial homes by charitable fellowships with ancient affectations or conveyed by fevered sea-captains, fugitive Huguenots or elderly hysterics formally accused of witchcraft. Young America, a sapling power grown suddenly so tall upon its diet of nickelodeons and motorcars, has sunk unwitting roots into an underworld of grotesque notions and archaic creeds, their feaful pull discernible below the weed-cracked sidewalk. Buried and forgotten, ominous philosophies await their day with hideous patience. Well! I think that's pretty darned good for a first attempt. A little over-wrought, perhaps, and I'm not sure about the style - I can't decide if its too modern of it's too old fashioned, but perhaps that's a good sign. Of course, I guess I'll have to introduce a plot and characters at some point, but I'll wrestle with that minor nuisance when I get to it. Perhaps I could contrive to have some hobo, maybe literally a hoe-boy or travelling itinerant farm labourer who's wandering from place to place around New England in the search for work; somebody who might reasonably become involved with all the various characters I'm hoping to investigate. Being a labourer, while it would lend a feasibility to any action or exertion that I wanted in the story, wouldn't mean that my protagonist was lacking in intelligence of education: this is often economically a far from certain country for a lot of people, and there's plenty of smart fellows - maybe even an aspiring writer like myself - who've found themselves leaving their homes and families to mooch around from farm to farm in hope of some hay-baling or fruit-picking that's unlikely to materialise. Perhaps a character like that, a rugged man who is sufficiently well read to justifiably allow me a few literary flourishes (and I can't help thinking that I'll probably end up casting some imagined variant of Tom Malone) would be the kind of of sympathetic hero and the kind of voice I'm looking for. Meanwhile I yawned a moment or two back, and while I'm not yet quite exhausted to the point where I can guarantee a deep and dreamless sleep, perhaps another six or seven vague ideas for stories might just do the soporific job.

It was bad enough when the monsters were just people. Not like Jon so much—the real monstrous ones. The ones like me, but without the good intentions. The rapists, murderers, sex traffickers, pharmaceuticalists, if that’s a word, and whatnot. They’re all bad enough, but at least they’re human.

His relations with the papacy had also begun to sour. Escrivá had never warmed to Pope John XXIII, who had been elected after the death of Pius XII in 1958 and quickly became known as the “good pope” for his efforts to liberalize the Church.

The Story of the Dictator and the Idiot. Once upon a time two species along the same homo genus existed. Two types of human kind. One was dominant and the other was submissive. One superior, one inferior. One law enforcing, one law abiding. One authoritarian and one obedient. The Dictator and the Idiot. Fundamentally there was no difference between these two. Both had a low IQ. Both neurotic. Both animalistic in nature. But the one became self-ordained to punish the other, tell them what to do, who to be, how to act, and what he can and can not have. This was the Dictator. The other, the Idiot, believed it all and kept living under the rule of the Dictator, believing everything they had to say. The Dictator occasionally made up rules and procedures for the Idiot to follow, in order for the Idiot not to die, be punished, be locked in a time-out, receive 100 lashes, be sent elsewhere or otherwise face different variations of punishments as imposed by the Dictator. Groups of Idiots were born and soon the Dictator saw an opportunity to create rules regarding the ways in which they can and can not have sex, how often, with whom and where, in order to control the Idiot once more. The Idiots obeyed. The Idiots then sold goods and soon the Dictator made a rule that a portion of their sales must go to him. He made up a word too in the process to call this collection system "tax". Groups of Dictators were also born and eventually evolved throughout history to write further rules, indoctrination, engage in the slave trade, human trafficking, rape, drug trades, the savagery of war, establishment of brothels and the repulsive behaviour displayed by half the population today. At some point, the Dictator creates the self-epithet of "Master" and labels the Idiot "Servant" but nothing much changes. A thousand other bynames came to fruition but none as pure and descriptive. "King, Emperor, Pastor, President, Minister," the list goes on. The Idiot evolves to become a silenced, subdued, indoctrinated servant. To allow punishment upon himself against his will, and to listen to the biased opinion of the Dictator as though it were a universal law. The Idiot follows unquestioningly and uncritically. Listening and doing without much thought. The Dictator evolves to write further religious scriptures in various forms on various continents. He writes laws and federal punishments. The Idiot then abides. The Dictator sentences the idiot to a life in jail for self defence. The Idiot abides. The Dictator takes money from the idiot and calls it Tax. The Idiot abides. The Dictator takes land from the Idiot without payment and gives it to another. The Idiot abides. The Dictator forces the Idiot to pay maintenance to his lazy wife. The Idiot abides. This speaks not of the character of the Dictator, but of the Idiot that carries on in his moronic ways. Stumbling over his own subordinate, defeated mind. The Dictator and the Idiot. An ongoing Sattire, a defeated people.

All of these third ways end up the same way: a behavior the Bible does not accept is treated as acceptable. “Agree to disagree” sounds like a humble “meet you in the middle” compromise, but it is a subtle way of telling conservative Christians that homosexuality is not a make-or-break issue and we are wrong to make it so. No one would think of proposing a third way if the sin were racism or human trafficking. To countenance such a move would be a sign of moral bankruptcy. Faithfulness to the Word of God compels us to view sexual immorality with the same seriousness. Living an ungodly life is contrary to the sound teaching that defines the Christian (1 Tim. 1:8–11; Titus 1:16). Darkness must not be confused with light. Grace must not be confused with license. Unchecked sin must not be confused with the good news of justification apart from works of the law. Far from treating sexual deviance as a lesser ethical issue, the New Testament sees it as a matter for excommunication (1 Corinthians 5), separation (2 Cor. 6:12–20), and a temptation for perverse compromise (Jude 3–16). We cannot count same-sex behavior as an indifferent matter. Of course, homosexuality isn’t the only sin in the world, nor is it the most critical one to address in many church contexts. But if 1 Corinthians 6 is right, it’s not an overstatement to say that solemnizing same-sex sexual behavior—like supporting any form of sexual immorality—runs the risk of leading people to hell. Scripture often warns us—and in the severest terms—against finding our sexual identity apart from Christ and against pursuing sexual practice inconsistent with being in Christ (whether that’s homosexual sin, or, much more frequently, heterosexual sin). The same is not true when it comes to sorting out the millennium or deciding which instruments to use in worship. When we tolerate the doctrine which affirms homosexual behavior, we are tolerating a doctrine which leads people further from God. This is not the mission Jesus gave his disciples when he told them to teach the nations everything he commanded. The biblical teaching is consistent and unambiguous: homosexual activity is not God’s will for his people. Silence in the face of such clarity is not prudence, and hesitation in light of such frequency is not patience. The Bible says more than enough about homosexual practice for us to say something too.

And now that mulch of dead imaginings beneath the feet of Temperance ladies, union-affiliated Vaudevillians and maimed men home from Europe has contaminated the groundwater of the upstart country's nightmares. Immigrants in their illimitable difference come to seem a separate species, taciturn and fish-eyed as though risen from the ocean waves that bore them in their transport, monstrous in their self-contained communities with bitter scents and indecipherable ululations, names, unsettlingly unpronounceable ensconced at isolated farms where beaten track is naught save idle rumour stagnant families nurse grievance, dreadful secrets and deformity in solitude; pools of declined humanity entirely unconnected to society by any tributary where ancestral prejudice or misconception may become the plaint of generations. Fabled and forbidden works of Arab alchemy are handed down across years cruel and volatile, trafficked between austere and colonial homes by charitable fellowships with ancient affectations or conveyed by fevered sea-captains, fugitive Huguenots or elderly hysterics formally accused of witchcraft. Young America, a sapling power grown suddenly so tall upon its diet of nickelodeons and motorcars, has sunk unwitting roots into an underworld of grotesque notions and archaic creeds, their feaful pull discernible below the weed-cracked sidewalk. Buried and forgotten, ominous philosophies await their day with hideous patience. Well! I think that's pretty darned good for a first attempt. A little over-wrought, perhaps, and I'm not sure about the style - I can't decide if its too modern of it's too old-fashioned, but perhaps that's a good sign. Of course, I guess I'll have to introduce a plot and characters at some point, but I'll wrestle with that minor nuisance when I get to it. Perhaps I could contrive to have some hobo, maybe literally a hoe-boy or travelling itinerant farm labourer who's wandering from place to place around New England in the search for work; somebody who might reasonably become involved with all the various characters I'm hoping to investigate. Being a labourer, while it would lend a feasibility to any action or exertion that I wanted in the story, wouldn't mean that my protagonist was lacking in intelligence or education: this is often economically a far from certain country for a lot of people, and there's plenty of smart fellows - maybe even an aspiring writer like myself - who've found themselves leaving their homes and families to mooch around from farm to farm in hope of some hay-baling or fruit-picking that's unlikely to materialise. Perhaps a character like that, a rugged man who is sufficiently well read to justifiably allow me a few literary flourishes (and I can't help thinking that I'll probably end up casting some imagined variant of Tom Malone) would be the kind of of sympathetic hero and the kind of voice I'm looking for. Meanwhile I yawned a moment or two back, and while I'm not yet quite exhausted to the point where I can guarantee a deep and dreamless sleep, perhaps another six or seven vague ideas for stories might just do the soporific job.

To be counted writers, that they may hear applause, to be though and held Polymaths a& Polyhistors, toiling for a frothy name among the vulgar masses, to get a paper kingdom; from no hope of gain, but great hope of fame, in this precipitate ambitious age, and they that are scarce auditors, must be masters & teachers ('tis Scaliger's censure), before they be capable & fit hearers. They will rush into all learning, gowned, armed, divine, human authors, rake over all Indexes & Pamphlets for notes, as our merchants do strange havens for traffick, write great Tomes, when as they are not thereby better scholars, but greater praters. They commonly pretend publick good, but, as Gesner observes, 'tis pride and vanity that eggs them on, no news or ought worthy of note, but the same in other terms. They turn authors lest peradventure the printers should have a holiday; or they must write something to prove they have existed.

first published on tumblr 27 Aug 2020 Treason45 said crimes lies vomit murder unabated blood lust sadistic racist arousal the plantation slave master slave hole American rot, my gifts to America. THATS TREASON45 WORKING FOR ANOTHER NATION RUNNING FOR OFFICE IN AMERICA HOW LOVELY. JUST PRICELESS. #volume5 gwencalvo 8 27 20 From the racists who hurt humanity in texas to the racists in protests for the black lives matter movement TREASON45 wants humanity to be damaged for what reason TREASON45. BECAUSE OF THE PLANTATION MASTER IN YOUR HEAD? the racists in the world from the north to the south to east to the west who cant stand folk crossing or being near their fucking garbage lawn you cant handle that but you would fine with another nation on your lawn the green men that are not there and they are thats okay. And you are just fine with a TREASON45 who bows to another nation. All of this stupid racist garbage leads your existence not being yours but of that nations that TREASON45 WORKS FOR good luck with that racist bitches that nation will love destroying the fuck out of anything thats all it does no you dont get to keep your weapons or your fucking manicured lawn DO SOME RESEARCH RACIST ZUNTS#volume5 Real leaders in the world like 44 have attitude Biden does too so does Harris they are charismatic charming magnetic real honest and decent and thats something racists cant fucking handle. for racists its just a slave hole for humanity and that thought is pure white lunacy. TAXPAYERS voters have real power THEY ARE RUNNING FOR OFFICE VOTING FOR REAL LEADERS AND NOT TAKING THIS RACIST GARBAGE ANYMORE. WHY SHOULD WE?????????? ITS YOUR RACIST MADNESS. HUMANITY IS NOT HERE FOR YOUR RACIST VOMIT. why should voters continue to pay taxes and fund racist vomit cops and police unions who want to continue treating humanity like their fucking slaves to tame to hurt to murder to humiliate even when they are like mr blake trying to remain alive why continue this humiliation because you stupid racist cant handle that humanity has attitude that humans dare to think dare to live dare to walk away and try to get the fuck away from you A weapon had to be used on mr blake who could have been overpowered by one or two racist cops RACIST COPS WANT TO CONTINUE TO murder openly on AMERICAN STREETS. SLAVERY COLONIAL AND ALL THAT FUCKING EVIL SHOULD NEVER NEVER SHOULD HAVE BEEN ALLOWED WHOEVER THE FUCK ALLOWED THAT FUCKING THING TO BE OF SLAVE HOLDER SLAVE HOLE THAT BITCH IS LIKE A TREASON45 who hides notes lies during a plague to kill citizens off allows military to be murdered by another nation permits kurd genocide concentration camp isis unleashed erases federal documents purges igs buys sells humanity trafficking it for the continuation of the slave hole AMERICAN ROT in the world uses taxpayer money to destroy the planet if there is no planet there is no existence and uses courts to hide his evil hides his evil.

On the simplest level, a battle of good and evil still existed in the world. People did unspeakable things to each other. Rape. Murder. Human trafficking. Mankind devoured itself the same way it always had. The same way it always would. The big ones ate the little ones. The monsters defiled the meek.

I'm proud to be part of a team that cares deeply about victims of human trafficking. Through technology like VR Eval and thanks to the generosity of donors and valued supporters, we believe we can help save lives. That is a good feeling. (Carlos Wallace speaking as a Board Member of More Too Life)